


Jane Eyre - a tale in three parts.

by TravelDustedShoes



Category: Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: F/M, Gen, Modern Era, Modern gothic, Rewrite, Romance, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:54:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelDustedShoes/pseuds/TravelDustedShoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern, mostly canon rewrite of Jane Eyre.  Orphaned, unwanted, and nearly alone, Jane Eyre wanted more out her life. Deciding to take a risk, she chooses to use her education in an unusual situation - as a private educator and nanny to the spirited Adele Rochester.  But there's more to the job than it first appears; a house full of secrets, accidents, and an employer who has suddenly returned from abroad.  Follow Jane as she navigates the perils of boarding school, and the mysteries of Thornfield House and it's owner, Mr. Edward F. Rochester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mainly canon rewrite of Jane Eyre. The idea came to me when I toyed with how a modern Jane would cope in the same situations. As such, some of what Charlotte Bronte wrote doesn't make sense in the 21st century. I don't want to reveal my plot too much, but I promise to try and make it as interesting as I can. There's still plenty a writer can do to create fear and tension within this story.

Chapter I

I was never fond of Gateshead, or it’s residents. Aunt Reed, and my cousins Georgiana (Georgie), Elizabeth (Liz), and John were not fond of me. It was a mutual feeling. For my part, being raised there was a miserable experience; the place itself was buried in the heart of Georgia, surrounded by trees so close and so tight as to suffocate. Close and tight, as if to remind me that I was chained to this family and chained to this place. 

I certainly wasn’t there by choice. My parents died when I was about three. My only strong memory of them is seeing the ambulance take them away while a police officer held me in his arms. There were no sirens, no urgency to the trip. They had died in the car crash and I had not. C’est la vie, as the French would say.

After the crash I was sent to live with my mother’s brother, George Reed and his family; wife Sarah, and the cousins that I mentioned above. Again, I don’t have many memories of this period in my life. What I can recall is that Uncle Reed was a kind man, who read me stories and told me how much I looked like my mother when she was a little girl. He alone raised me, as Sarah Reed resented the time he “lavished” on me. I suppose life could have been different here at Gateshead had Uncle Reed not died. Two years after my arrival, he got a cancer diagnosis. He was dead within six months. 

The result was the life I can recall. Almost immediately I was taken out of the nursery area and placed in my own room - coincidently closer to the servants wing than any of my cousins’ rooms. My meals were to be taken separately from everyone else, and due to ‘economic reasons’ I was taken out of a very expensive primary school and placed in the local public school (which was a complete lie, Mr. Reed was exceedingly wealthy, and Mrs. Reed came from a family steeped in cotton and real estate). This didn’t make me too sad though; Georgie was only a year older than myself and made my life a torment - surprisingly well for a second grader bullying a first grader. As the Reed children grew they ran through a number of different schools, mostly local, all of the private, and rarely staying longer than three years. Mrs. Reed always pulled them out for some reason or another; not meeting their educational needs, incompetent teachers, emotional/mental climate was not suitable, etc... What I knew, and I suspect what many of the staff knew, was the truth; Georgie Reed was a spoiled princess, Liz Reed was a domineering control freak, and John Reed was certifiably rotten. 

John Reed. I still shudder when I think of him. His verbal abuse I could handle. But the torment I suffered under his hands was something else. Later on, while taking my education degree, I was able to correctly identify it as physical abuse verging on sexual abuse. I’m quite sure that if I had stayed at Gateshead any longer than I did that he would have begun doing unspeakable things to me. 

In fact, the first incident that was a sign of escalation happened one day after a walk through the park. The evening was more humid than usual, and I could feel the weight of trees on my skin and in my mind. The walk had left me exhausted and slightly feverish. The nanny, usually not one to show any concern for me, begged Mrs. Reed to let me go to my room. The answer was no - I would sit in the library and do my homework as usual. Georgiana, Liz, and John also did their homework in the library, so you can imagine how much I liked that activity. 

I suppose I should mention that I was fifth grade by this point, Georgiana was in sixth, Liz in eighth, and John in ninth. The evening started as per usual, with Georgie mocking my school work (“We did that in fourth grade at Pine Grove, shows you how crappy public schools are.”), Liz admonishing me (“Jane, stop distracting everyone. Just do your work in quiet.”), and John waiting like a tiger for his moment to strike. I guess my mistake that night was letting down my guard. I tuned out Georgie, and did my work quietly. For a good period of time there was silence. Like I did at school sometimes, I zoned out and allowed myself to enjoy the stillness of it all. I was unaware of the fact that I had let out a yawn and stretched a bit. 

“Whore!” John yelled, and in a flash had knocked me out of my chair and pinned me to the floor. “You’re just trying to provoke me, you little slut.” 

He started slapping my face, slapping my chest, and grinding himself into me. Liz and Georgie just stood there. I think it was their passiveness that spurred me into action. John was a big boy - tall and hefty for his age - and I was quite small for mine. There wasn’t much I could do physically except bite him. So that’s what I did. I wiggled an arm free and when he went to slap me again I grabbed his arm and bit. The resulting yelp allowed my to get a knee free and bring it up to his groin. That maneuver had him screaming and rolling on the floor. I was able to get up, and feeling a sense of euphoria over my triumph (and perhaps a bit of blood lust) I started kicking John in the stomach and back. 

“What the hell is going on here!” Aunt Reed bellowed in to the room. When she saw me kicking John furiously she started to scream. “Jane! Jane! You little brat. Marcie! Bess! Get here quickly!”

Marcie (Mrs. Reed’s personal assistant) and Bess (one of the cleaning staff) pried me off John and Bess restrained me against her body. Aunt Reed helped John off the floor with mutterings of “Poor baby” and “What has she done now?”

John shook his mother off and began to lunge toward me. “That bitch bit me! All I did was offer her help with her homework and she just attacked me!”

The lie was one too far. I had put up with a lot, but this was the proverbial straw. “LIAR! He called me a whore. He pinned me to the floor, he slapped me-”

“ENOUGH!” Aunt Reed interrupted me. “Enough. I’ll not have you making up lies-”

“I’M NOT LYING! YOUR SON IS A VICIOUS TYRANT!” I screamed. 

Aunt Reed slapped me. “Lies. You are a liar. Just like your mother. And I’m not my husband, I will not be blind to them. Bess, take her up to the red room. She’s not to exit that room except for school for the rest of the week. Understood?”

“Good.” I said. It made Aunt Reed pause. “I will be glad not to join you. You are a liar and bully, and your children are liars and bullies. I hate you, I hate this family, and I hate this house.”

She must not have been expecting me to answer, because all she could do was stand there. I however was rushed up to the red room (Uncle Reed’s old private room). At this point you might expect a ten-year-old to cry in frustration or make a fuss. Instead the whole of the day caught up to me and I passed out on the floor.


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane recovers from the Red Room, and meets some people who are willing to help her out.

Chapter II

When I woke up I was in my own bed, full daylight was streaming through my window, and an unfamiliar weight was on my bed. As I came to, I noticed that it was Dr. Berry. 

“Welcome back Jane.” Dr. Berry spoke softly. He was a nice man, a retired doctor who lived in the area and occasionally came by when either myself or any of the staff was sick. Mrs. Reed and the children had a special doctor in Atlanta. 

“Thank you...I think. Where was I gone?”

Dr. Berry chuckled, “I was just about to ask you that. Must have been an interesting trip, to have been out for three days.”

“Three days!” I was genuinely shocked. I sat up, but there was a great pain in doing so.

“Shhh...don’t exert yourself. You’re quite bruised.” The doctor shook his head. “Bess called me. She tried bringing you some supper on the sly, but when she opened the door of that room she found you moaning on the floor. I’ve been with you since.”

“What happened to me?” 

“Strictly speaking? You had the flu. And a concussion. I think a couple of your ribs are bruised, and you have quite the shiner on your left cheek. In my honest opinion?” Dr. Berry paused and I nodded for him to continue. “You’re suffering from depression. And combat fatigue.”

“Combat...fatigue?” My ten-year-old brain didn’t quite grasp it.

“You’re in battle zone Jane. You need to get out.”

“But I can’t!” I cried out. “I’m trapped here. No one else wants me.”

“Shhh, Jane. Calm yourself. Bess and I are going to help you. You have to trust us.”

As I lay back down, I could hear voices coming from the downstairs parlor. “Who’s talking to Aunt Reed?”

“Someone who will want to speak to you soon. Do you feel strong enough to get dressed?” I nodded yes. “Good. I’ll ask Bess to come help you.” 

Dr. Berry left the room, and Bess came in. “Oh it’s so good to see you up Jane! You gave us quite a scare. Here, let me help you.”

I was puzzled by the kindness. Bess was, by far, the kindest to me on staff but even she had her limits. I could never be sure if she was afraid of losing her job if she was seen caring too much, or if she was actually that exasperated by me. Either way, I didn’t call it into question - to survive I had to have one friend. 

“Who’s here to see me Bess?”

“A Mrs. Lane.” Bess’ lips pursed a bit. “From Child and Family Services.”

My eyes went large. Having gone to a public school, I knew full well what CFS did - they took kids from dangerous homes and put them into (sometimes) good ones, or (sometimes) worse ones. Or they placed them in group homes. “Am I leaving, Bess?”

“Yes. I think you should.”

“Is it because I’m a bad child?”

Bess froze. When she recovered she gently knelt to my level and placed her arms gently at my sides. “No Jane. It’s because Mrs. Reed has been a poor guardian. Remember this Jane; Sarah Reed is not a bad person, she’s just incapable of raising you.”

“Why? Not that Georgie, Liz, and John are great people, but she seems to raise them well enough. Why can’t she raise me?”

I could see Bess thinking it through. She looked me up and down once and seemed to make a judgement that I was old enough for the truth. “Because Mr. Reed loved you more than he loved his own. She resents you for that.”

Once dressed I was ushered into the nursery - now used as a kind of common room for the servants - and seated on the large wingback that Marcie used to use when reading stories to Georgie. In a matter of moments at rather large, but well featured, middle aged woman entered the room and sat on the bench opposite of me. 

“Hello Jane. I’m Mrs. Lane.”

“I know. You’re from CFS.”

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“Because I bit John Reed and now I have to leave.”

“No Jane,” Mrs. Lane gave me a sad smile “I’m here because John Reed hit you, and from what I understand has done so since you were very little.”

I nodded. It was a kind of glorious pain to finally have someone willing to listen, and I couldn’t speak through it.

“Dr. Berry called me a couple of days ago. I went to your school Jane and spoke with your teachers. They’ve suspected for a long time that something was wrong, but...”

“But they never did anything because Mrs. Reed has money.”

“That’s part of it. They didn’t know what to do because you never said anything.”

“I never said anything because no one would believe me.”

Mrs. Lane nodded as if she’d seen it all before. Later, I would realize that she had seen it all before - just never in a house the scale of Gateshead. “Well, I believe you Jane. And Dr. Berry believes you. I’ve spoken to Bess and a couple of other staff. They told me things.”

“And what’s your decision Mrs. Lane?”

I would suspect she was taken aback with how direct I was. Years of living in a house of lies had made me wary of what someone later would tell me was ‘Bullshit. You don’t take bullshit Jane, from anyone.’

“Well. After talking with your principal, I have an offer to make Mrs. Reed. One that will be mutually beneficial. Shall we go see your Aunt, Jane?” Mrs. Lane took my hand and we went down to the main parlor. 

 

Mrs. Reed was sitting there, sweating profusely and pale as a ghost. As a robust and healthy woman it was a sight I’d never seen and looking back on it I have to admit that I took a keen pleasure in being the cause of her distress. When I was brought into the room, Sarah Reed jumped and shivered at the sight of me. “Jane, dear. Please take a seat.” The kindest words she ever directed at me. 

I sat, and Mrs. Lane sat beside me. 

“Mrs. Reed, I’ll be short. I’m going to file a report today that reflects unfavourably on you and your method of raising children. This report is going raise a red flag at CFS, and it will send three investigators into your house. Tomorrow morning these investigators will take Jane, and your three children into protective custody until an assessment is complete.”

Mrs. Reed started to cry. It was an unbecoming sight. 

“However...” Mrs. Lane continued, “I am not an unreasonable woman, and I can see that your other children are treated well. While I vehemently disagree with the way you are raising them, they are apparently happy and healthy. It’s Jane I’m concerned about. But CFS doesn’t see exceptions. They see an ‘all or nothing’ scenario.”

“What...what do you propose, Mrs. Lane?” Mrs. Reed looked up with a desperate hope. 

“Mr. LaFontaine, Jane’s principal, has told me she has strong academics and a talent for art. There is a boarding school in Pennsylvania with a focus on fine arts. Jane could likely secure a scholarship, but that wouldn’t cover all expenses.”

“Would you...like to go to...such a school, Jane?” Mrs. Reed asked, through various sniffles. 

“Yes. I would.”

“Will they take her so late in the semester?”

“No,” Mrs. Lane replied. “She would have to finish out the year here. I would amend my report to just a recommendation of bi-weekly visits to ensure proper care. The ball is in your court Mrs. Reed.”

“Yes, yes. I will make the arrangements.” Mrs. Reed countered. 

 

Mrs. Lane left and I was alone in the parlour with Mrs. Reed. I was expecting a tirade of words calling me deceitful and a liar. But she said nothing. The only noise that kept us company for several minutes was the sound of her tears. It was uncomfortable, and I wished to leave, but I couldn’t make myself move. Some part of me needed to hear what she had to say. 

“Well Jane,” Mrs. Reed said, wiping her eyes, “this is certainly a predicament that you’ve put us into.”

“Us?” I was surprisingly calm for as angry as I felt. “There is no us, Mrs. Reed. You have not treated me with any consideration since Uncle Reed died, and I feel nothing towards you except...” My brain was searching for the word, one I had just learnt. “Contempt. That’s the one.”

Mrs. Reed had the gall to be shocked. In hindsight, I suppose she was; after all I was not in the habit of standing up for myself. However, in that moment I took her shock as an attempt at genuine feeling. “Jane! I have only ever wanted what was right for you! I have only ever wanted to be your friend.”

“You are no friend!” The dam had burst and I let go all the anger I felt. “You are cruel, blind to the bullies your children are - especially John, and ignorant of anything that goes on in my life. By your choice. You don’t love for me, and I don’t love for you.” I stunned Mrs. Reed into silence. “I will be glad to leave this place. You and your bully daughters and psychotic son can rot here in this swamp.”

Something flashed in Mrs. Reed’s eyes, and her cold, stony demeanour returned. For a moment I was afraid I had talked my way out of being able to leave. “I’m sorry you feel that way Jane. My only wish was to love you as my own, but you must allow that you have a passionate and ungovernable nature. You are too much like your mother, in that regard.”

It was the first time I heard Mrs. Reed mention my mother. I wanted to ask more, but I knew the look on her face too well and that it would be smart of me to go to my room. I couldn’t resist a parting shot though. “Better to be like my mother than to be as heartless as you.”

I couldn’t be sure, but thought I heard her crying again as I headed up the stairs.


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane meets Mr. Brocklehurst, and learns a bit about her past.

Mrs. Lane came and checked in every two weeks as promised. To avoid anymore flare-ups, Mrs. Reed told John, Georgie, and Liz to avoid me on pain of punishment (usually a grounding of some sort). And not to be outdone, if I was to go away to school so too the rest of them had to go as well. Mrs. Reed made a huge production to Mrs. Lane one afternoon that Georgie had been accepted into a theatre arts school in New York, and was going to live with family friends, Liz had chosen a military academy in Virginia, and John was going to a prep school in Connecticut that was good scouting ground for college football programs. To Mrs. Lane’s credit she just nodded her way through the conversation. As for the school I was going to, it seemed that a certain arrangement was being made for me to travel there at the beginning of August.   
“Mr. Brocklehurst is coming down to meet Jane and take her back with him.” Mrs. Reed said.  
“And who is he?” Mrs. Lane asked.  
“He is the headmaster of that school you mentioned in Pennsylvania. I was quite impressed with the choice, Mrs. Lane. It is a well established school with a strong Christian foundation. They place an emphasis on religion as well as academics, which I believe will be good for Jane. I’ll admit that I haven’t been as strict with the moral education of my children as I have been with other things.”  
“Ah.” Was all Mrs. Lane could say.

I stopped eavesdropping on the conversation and went back to my room. I wasn’t sure about this school now. ‘Strong Christian foundation’ made me think back to Charles Dickens, and other 19th century stories where children were sent to overly harsh boarding schools with religion beaten and starved into them. Surely, in the 20th century with regulations and controls, they wouldn’t do that to us would they? How would I respond to that? Mrs. Reed wasn’t lying when she said our moral education was lacking. I knew her to be a Baptist, like a good majority of the south, but her attendance at church was...spotty at best. I only remember being in Sunday School once, and even then I thought it to be a bit of a joke. I suppose my understanding of religion and morals came from Bess, and from the very general education I got at school.

Speaking of Bess, she had become something of a companion of mine in those last weeks at Gateshead. We spoke often, and I got her to open up a fair bit on how and why I ended up here. It would seem that my Uncle Reed and my mother came from a very wealthy and prominent family here in Georgia, and that my mother had defied her parents to run off with my dad; a northerner she met in university. Bess said that it wasn’t a pleasant situation, and that Mr. Reed pleaded with my grandparents to forgive her but to no avail. The root of it was that my father was from Michigan, Catholic, and came from a working class background. My grandparents died before my mother could reconcile with them, and it wasn’t much longer after that that my parents died in the car crash. Apparently, Uncle Reed and my mother were very close growing up and he was torn up about her death. He insisted on taking me in - convincing my father’s family that it was for the best. For a bit of time there was contact between the Eyre’s and the Reed’s, but after Uncle Reed’s death all contact stopped. Bess had to admit that it was Mrs. Reed’s unpleasantness towards them that ended the contact.   
I daydreamed about what my life would have been like had the Eyre’s taken me in. Bess said that my dad came from a small family; one brother and one sister, and I had a few cousins. How many cousins were there? Would I be friends with any of them? Would I have been raised Catholic? What would that be like? Where in Michigan would I live? From time to time I would take out a large atlas from the library in Mr. Reed’s old study and look at the state of Michigan. Places like Ann Arbor, Lansing, and Flint stood out in my mind. How much different was Detroit from Atlanta? I never got into Atlanta much, but when I did get to go it was quite exciting. But the biggest question I always had to wonder was do they love me? I mean, if they had wanted me wouldn’t they have fought for me? 

These things kept my mind preoccupied as the summer went on. Before I knew it, it was August and I had spent my first summer unmolested by the Reed’s. That little gift alone was enough to tip my hand; I needed to be gone. 

It was just after the first weekend in August that Mr. Brocklehurst showed up. He was a tall, painfully thin man with a slight stoop in his shoulders and hard, angular features. I couldn’t tell immediately if I was going to like him or not, but I suspected it might be not. As I watched from the stairs, Mrs. Reed greeted him at the door.  
“Mr. Brocklehurst, a pleasure. Please, come into the parlour.”  
“Ah, southern hospitality never fails to make my heart warm.” His response was almost too polished. Obviously he had met with many parents/guardians in situations like this. I followed them down, and sat just outside the parlour door to listen.  
“Oh, you’re too kind Mr. Brocklehurst. Shall I call for some sweet tea?”  
“A glass of water, if you please. I’m afraid my northern skin isn’t used to such heat and humidity.” It was true. Brocklehurst was sweating profusely - and it wasn’t a good look for him.  
“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Reed asked one of the cleaning girls if she would get them some water. She gestured for Mr. Brocklehurst to sit down. “I hate to be rude and rush things, but I’d like to get to the point. You are willing to take Jane with you?”  
Mr. Brocklehurst seemed nonplussed. “If need be yes. It’ll be an additional fee to board her early at Lowood, but there are other girls who stay all summer so it won’t be an inconvenience.”  
Mrs. Reed seemed pleased. “There are girls who stay all year?”   
“Yes. We offer intensive camps during the summer, and many of our girls stay on to either attend or work the camps as resident aids.”  
“Would Jane be able to stay on?”  
“Well, we’ve never had a student work the camps that young, but I’m sure we could find a use for her.”  
“As to that,” Mrs. Reed continued, “There is a tuition reduction for students who work?”  
“Indeed. The work doesn’t interfere with their studies, as it usually involves serving dinner, or assisting with keeping the facilities clean, or keeping the chapel clean. Generally about 1-2 hours per day. No more than any other amount of chores.”  
“And the reduction?”  
Mr. Brocklehurst smiled. “Students who work generally receive a 30% reduction in fees. It should bring Jane’s tuition down to about $2000 per semester, after the scholarship she will receive. In the upper years, we have students who choose to work in the same way a teenager would have a part-time job. Because tuition increases in these years, having them work generally keeps tuition down to the $2000 mark.”  
“Excellent. I would like you to consider that option for Jane. Due to her unruly nature, I would not have her home to disrupt my other children.”  
“So she will be staying with us for all holidays then?”  
“Yes.”  
“Duly noted. I believe there was something else you wanted to discuss as well Mrs. Reed?” Mr. Brocklehurst continued.   
“Yes. I would like the staff to know they may have to take great pains with Jane. She is willful, devoid of any respect for authority, deceitful, and a liar. Indeed, she has inherited a great many of her mother’s ungovernable traits. A strong religious life may be needed to correct her faults.”  
I could not stand it! I burst into the parlour and demanded their attention. “I AM NOT A LIAR! YOU ARE THE LIAR! You sit there and call me ungovernable - and all the while you allow your children to run around and hit people and bully them??!”   
Mrs. Reed kept her cool. “Mr. Brocklehurst, this is Jane Eyre.”  
“How old is the child?” He eyed me up like I was being bought, rather than attending his school.   
“She will be 11 this September.”  
“She’s rather small for her age...”   
“Yes.”  
“I’m right here you know. You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not in the room.”   
“I see what you mean, Mrs. Reed.” Brocklehurst turned to talk to me. “Jane, do you know what happens to girls who speak out of turn?”  
“I suspect that you discipline them, much like any other school would.”  
“Indeed we do. But discipline means something different at Lowood than it does in your typical public school Jane. Discipline means demerits, and demerits mean extra work and extra chores. We require that our girls speak to their teachers with respect. Are you capable of respect, Jane?”  
“Where it deserved, yes.”  
“And we don’t tolerate liars Jane. Lying will earn you a ticket right back home.”  
“I am not a liar.”  
“I shall be the judge of that, Jane Eyre.” Brocklehurst looked over to Mrs. Reed. “I think we can accomplish some work here. She’s unruly and undisciplined, but not unintelligent.”  
“I’m glad you think so Mr. Brocklehurst.”  
I decided to play into Brocklehurst’s hand, just to show that I could follow the rules. “May I speak?”  
Mrs. Reed and Mr. Brocklehurst looked at me, both puzzled by my sudden calmness. They didn’t respond, so I took it as an opportunity.   
“Mrs. Reed, I am not a liar. And I will prove this to the students of Lowood. But I promise you this - they will know how you treated me. I will tell all of them about the abuse I have suffered here, and how you are quite possibly the worst guardian to walk the earth.”  
Mrs. Reed trembled. I could tell she was trying very hard not lose control, like she did with Mrs. Lane.   
“That’s quite enough, Miss Eyre.” Brocklehurst said. “Mrs. Reed, I have some business to conduct in Atlanta. It would be easier if you could meet me there with Jane on Friday and we can travel from there.” He handed Mrs. Reed a folder of documents. “I will need these filled out before then, so that we can travel with your permission.”  
“Of course. I’ll have them completed. Hold on a moment, if you please.” She cornered the same girl who served them drinks and asked her to bring Bess. “I’m going to introduce you to Bess Leaven. She’s a long time employee and has been taking care of Jane as of late. I’ll have Bess drive Jane into Atlanta.”  
Bess came into the room and took her instructions from Mrs. Reed. Introductions were made, and arrangements set up to have me in Atlanta by noon Friday.   
“Bess, if you could take Jane up to her room and start packing. I’m leaving tomorrow morning for New York to set Georgie up with the Bell’s, so I won’t have time to supervise.”  
I spoke again, this time to Brocklehurst. “How much should I pack, Mr. Brocklehurst?”  
“Your dorm room is small, you will be sharing with three other girls. Pack as if you were traveling for about 10 days or so. That should be sufficient. Laundry is done once a week.”  
I looked at Bess, hoping she would be of help. Mrs. Reed travelled frequently with my cousins, but I was always left at home.   
“Don’t worry Jane.” Bess replied. “I’ll help you.”  
“You can use Georgie’s old luggage Bess. We got her new things for New York.” Mrs. Reed responded, dismissively. “I think that should be it. May I show you out Mr. Brocklehurst?”

I didn’t stay to hear them exchange pleasantries. Bess and I went up into the attic and got Georgie’s old luggage. I was silent as Bess chattered on about how exciting it must be to go to such a well renowned school. I wasn’t sure how excited I actually was anymore. My first impression of Mr. Brocklehurst left a few things to be desired. He was going to be trouble, I knew it.   
“Jane, are you listening?” Bess asked, and it was first time I tuned in since going upstairs.   
“Sorry Bess. I was thinking.”   
“That’s a bad habit you have there Jane.”  
“Thinking?”  
“No, zoning out.” Bess studied me carefully then proceeded. “Jane, things are going to be very different from now on. You can’t tune the world out anymore. You’ll need your wits about you. You know better than anyone how unfair the world is, but you have to pay attention if you’re going to do anything about it.”  
I didn’t appreciate being scolded in that moment, but years later I would silently thank Bess for that bit of advice.   
“Alright Jane,” Bess continued on when we reached my room, “let’s start packing.

Later that night, while I was trying to sleep, Mrs. Reed crept into my room. I had almost slipped away when the hall light came on. I’m not a sound sleeper (never was, actually), and the sliver of light through my door roused me. Before she could enter the room I rolled over so my back was to the door and I could pretend I was asleep. I heard her cross the room over to me.   
“Jane? Jane, I know you’re not asleep. But if you don’t want to look at me that’s fine.” Mrs. Reed began, “Jane. All I ever wanted was to be your friend, but you must allow you’ve been a difficult child. We’ve both made mistakes, but I want you to know that I will keep my promise to your uncle. Remember that Jane. I will keep my promise.”  
I kept still and said nothing. There was nothing to say; she was trying to make up for nearly eight years of poor parenting because suddenly her reputation might be compromised. I waited until she left the room to let out a big sigh. I wasn’t sure what I was walking into but I was glad to be walking away from Gateshead.   
Mrs. Reed and Georgie left early in the morning. John was away at a football camp, and Liz was somewhere in the midwest with her Junior ROTC. Besides Marcie, and the rest of the staff, I was alone for the next two days. I contented myself with reading books from the library, taking one last walk on the grounds (just to let those trees know I’d never be back), and double checking all my luggage. There was one thing missing though - Mr. Reed’s atlas. I studied it’s place on the shelf in the library and decided that with some creative organization no one would miss it. That atlas was the only link I had to what could have been a life with the Eyre’s. It felt wrong to leave it here.   
Friday morning I was up early, and shuttled off to Atlanta with Bess. It was a two hour drive, and although I didn’t have to be at the train station until 7pm Bess said that Mrs. Reed had left a list of items to pick up for the house and that we were going to have to do some shopping. I would have much rather waited at the train station. Soon enough though it was 6:30pm and we were in the waiting room at the station. I heard Mr. Brocklehurst before I saw him.  
“Ah, Mrs. Leaven, there you are. And Miss Eyre. Excellent.”  
When I turned to face him I had to suppress a giggle; he was sunburnt so bad that he looked like a lobster.   
“We’ll soon be on our way. Has Mrs. Reed made the travel arrangements?”  
“Yes,” Bess handed over what was presumably my train ticket. “Here’s the ticket as requested.”  
“Excellent, Excellent.” He then turned to me. “Now, Miss Eyre, We’ll be able to sleep most of this journey, but on the last leg of it I’ll be working,” he patted his bag “and will not tolerate being disturbed. Do you have enough with you to keep yourself occupied?”  
I nodded in the affirmative. I had books. I’d be fine. Truth be told I was glad that we would not have to entertain each other.   
“Excellent.”   
He said excellent a lot. I suppose it was his form of “ok”.  
Bess asked if she could stay until I left. Brocklehurst didn’t care either way. When it was time, she gave me a huge hug.   
“You’re a right royal pain in the ass sometimes, Jane Eyre, but you’re good people. Things are going to start looking up. You’ll see. This is an expensive and privileged education you are getting - take advantage of ALL of it.”   
At that moment I suddenly realized what I was doing. It wasn’t just leaving behind the Reed’s and Gateshead. I was leaving behind Bess, and Marcie. The cook - who occasionally slipped me sweets. My teachers, and the couple of friends I had back at school. Everything that had governed my life for nearly eight years was going to be left behind on that platform. I was excited and terrified.   
Once I got settled into the train and sleeper car, I pulled out my favorite book - Kit Pearson’s The Sky is Falling - and awaited the journey ahead.


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane comes to Lowood School of Academics and Fine Arts, learns what is like to live a life of structure, and discovers that she is not as friendless after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for delays. I had quite forgotten this story, but I am determined to finish it.

I don’t want to bore you on the gritty details of the remainder of my youth. I shall do my best to summarize the next several years of my life as a series of events that befell me while living out the mundane existence that was my life. 

In fact, I’ll make a mention of that mundane first and get it out of the way. Lowood School of Academics and Fine arts was located a few miles outside of Lancaster, PA. Life at Lowood was simple, strict, and regimented. The faith of choice was Episcopalian - odd for Pennsylvania Dutch country - and practiced with great rigour by Mr. Brocklehurst. He seemed to harken back to the days of overly starched English priests, rather than what I always figured was a Norman Rockwell-esque painting of a humble religious man enjoying the comforts of his family. Chapel was held daily at 8am, services each Sunday at 10:30am, and evening devotions were read promptly at 7pm every Tuesday and Thursday. 

Those who had to “work” for their education led an even more restricted life than regular students. We were up at 5:30, down to the dining hall by 6am to set the tables, and then we served and cleaned breakfast from 7:00-7:40am (being given 20 minutes at the end to eat our own breakfast). After chapel classes began promptly at 8:30am, breaking for lunch at 11:45am, (which, blissfully, was served by staff) resuming again at 12:45pm and then ending at 3:45pm. At that point, many students would head to study hall for homework, but those of us working would head to the dining hall to ready for dinner. Dinner was served between 5-6:30pm, and here is where it was a benefit to be a working student; our dinner was served to us first (at around 4:45pm), and unlike the others we were allowed a small snack around 8pm as recompense for having to eat dinner so early. Once dinner was done we had until 10pm to complete our homework in the library or study hall, then it was lights out by 11pm. Such was how I lived my life from the age of 11 to nearly the age of 18. 

With one exception. After the untimely burn-out of several of the ‘working girls’ (one of whom tried to set the school on fire), a state official inspected how Lowood was run and decided that our hours were too much to bear. So when I was 14 the hours were reduced, in that you could work only three days of five, or you could work either breakfast or dinner (but not both) five days a week. I chose the latter, working breakfasts. It seemed much easier to get breakfast over and done with and be given my entire evening to study and complete projects. 

Academically I excelled at Lowood. My teachers were pleasantly surprised by my overall intelligence, and Ms. Temple (art teacher and deputy director) helped foster my talent for art. She also noted that I had a decent musical ear, and encouraged me to join band. While I put my focus into my art, I wasn’t a half bad flautist if I may say, and finished my career at Lowood playing principal flute in the intermediate band. I listened to Bess and took advantage of every opportunity given to me. 

As for friends, the few that I did make were mainly fellow working students, some of the girls in my advanced art classes - who also happened to be in band with me - and Helen Burns. 

Helen. God, there’s a name forever etched into my heart and soul. 

Helen was two years older than me. She was a working student, originally from New York, and the first person I ever loved. You read that right, I loved her. When describing our relationship once, I heard the term “Non-sexual-hetero-life-mate” used. And come to think of it, that seems appropriate. Helen was my everything; my friend, my sister, my conspirator, my conscience, and my direction. She was the one who helped me work within the rigidity of Lowood. She was the one who told me to harness my passions into my art. She was the one who told me that one day I would find my purpose, and with god’s grace I would live it. 

I even know the exact moment our friendship started. I hadn’t been at Lowood long, about two or three months, when one of the day schoolers (some wealthy kid from Lancaster) riled me up about something. I had been too terrified at first to do much, but her behaviour reminded me so much of Georgie’s that I lashed out in anger. I’m not exactly sure what I said, but I do know that I slapped her. 

In front of Mr. Brocklehurst. 

“Miss Eyre. Come here.” 

All eyes were on me. I slowly made my way up to the front, where Mr. Brocklehurst took my shoulders and spun me around to face the class. 

“This, girls, is Miss Jane Eyre. She is a violent, deceitful, and artless girl. She lies, tells tales, and is not to be trusted. As punishment, she is to stand here for the rest of the day wearing this.” Brocklehurst produced a badge for me to wear, proclaiming ‘Liar’ on it for the world to see. 

My eyes stung with tears that I refused to let fall. I would bear my punishment. What I didn’t know at that moment was that my punishment was literally ALL DAY. I was to stand there until 8:00pm, to be a thing looked and laughed at. But very few of the girls laughed. Around 7:30, Helen snuck into the classroom with a glass of water.

“Here. You must be thirsty.”

“Thank you so much.”

“My name is Helen. I’m in the room next door.”

“I suppose I don’t need to mention my name.” The tears that I had been holding back now fell with a sense of shame. 

“It’s okay Jane. I knew who you were before today. I’m sure Ms. Temple will come relieve you soon. When she does, you can find me in the library.” With that Helen left, and it was not much longer that her prophecy came true; Ms. Temple came with the evening snack, kind words, and a promise to speak to Mr. Brocklehurst. 

After snack I did meet up with Helen in the library. We discovered that we shared similar interests. She introduced me to The Chronicles of Narnia (I still have her copy with me to this day), mentioned she was in band and encouraged me to join in the next term, and preferred the solitude of the library compared to the liveliness of the study hall. 

“Ms. Temple is really quite good,” Helen whispered, “she watches out for the workers. Doesn’t let the day schoolers or rich kids lord their privilege over us.”  
“It’s so outrageously unfair, how they get to lord around classes.”  
“SHHHH!” Our librarian stood over us, disapproving of the conversation. “If you insist on talking, I shall insist you move to study hall.”

Helen scribbled quickly on a note card _Let’s just use this to write notes_ and slid it over to me.

_Is Ms. Temple the only decent teacher here?_

_No. Mme. Boualouan is pleasant. Some of the day schoolers make fun of her for being muslim AND French, but she’s quite pithy in her comebacks. She gets what it’s like to be bullied, she’ll stick up for you - if she likes you._

_Any others?_

_Mr. Albright is okay. We won’t get him until we move into high school though._

_Ms. Scatcherd seems hate you. Why are you in her homeroom?_

_Luck of the draw. Ms. Scatcherd doesn’t hate me; her and I just have different opinions on what it means to be “presentable”. She’s right though - I need to take better care of myself and my things._

_But she’s so MEAN._

_You have to learn to temper those feelings. Just because someone doesn’t like what you look like, sound like, or how you behave doesn’t mean that they hate you. Or are mean. Ms. Scatcherd likes things to be just so._

I didn’t like being scolded, but Helen’s manner-of-factness helped take the sting out of it. However, I wanted to change the subject. 

_What brings you to Lowood?_

_My parents divorced five years ago. My mom ran off with someone. I haven’t heard from her since. Dad remarried two years ago. My stepmom and I don’t get along. She didn’t want me around their new baby. So I’m here._

_That’s HORRIBLE._

_That’s life Jane. It’s not fair. To be honest, I remind my father too much of my mom. We look alike. All I am is a painful memory to him. You?_

_My parents died when I was three. I was raised by a HORRIBLE aunt and bullied by her three kids. CFS gave her the choice of sending me away or apprehending all of us._

_That’s rough._

_Yeah. I plan on making it my mission to let everyone know how MEAN Sarah Reed of Atlanta, Georgia is._

_Why?_

_WHY?! Because her son tried to beat me black and blue. Because she would lock me away in rooms, and treated me no better than a servant._

_I agree that those are horrible things, but what purpose does it serve? You should try to forget them here._

_I will NEVER forget._

_Fine. But at least try to move on. Dwelling on the bad stuff makes for a sad life._

We stopped there. Even in our first conversation, of sorts, Helen had given me a lot to think about. 

 

Later that night, before bed, Ms. Temple asked me to come to her office. 

“Jane, I just called a Mrs. Lane from Cordele, GA.”

“Yes…” I answered hesitantly.

She smiled, sweetly but with a hint of sadness. Pity, perhaps. “You’re alright. You’re not going back. I just wanted to get an understanding of the situation for myself. I don’t think you’re a liar Jane. Mr. Brocklehurst has some rather…peculiar ideas of how children should behave - especially for the 20th century. He doesn’t take much stock in the thoughts and feelings of students.”

“Then why is he running this school?”

Ms. Temple laughed. “Oh Jane, so very blunt! Truthfully? Because his family established this school, and they still have money, influence, and power.”

I was reminded of my conversation with Helen, and of my run in with the day schooler. “So even now, money and position still win?”

“Not always Jane, but they certainly give you a head start.”

“So what do I do?” I must have asked my question with such seriousness, because I gave Ms. Temple a bit of start. 

“Be you Jane. What I’ve seen in the last two months is a student who is conscious of her surroundings, intelligent, and willing to adapt. Those traits will serve you well. Possibly well enough to beat that head start. Now off to bed.”

I decided that night to take Ms. Temple’s advice and kind words to heart. I would continue to be aware of my situation, to make intelligent and rational decisions, and to not be so immovable that I could not adapt. With her and Helen in my corner, suddenly things weren’t looking too bad after all.


	5. Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane wraps up her last years at Lowood, and the seas are not always smooth sailing.

So life continued at Lowood. There really isn’t much more to say on the topic of that school, except for one noticeable event that happened in 10th grade. 

It was a direct result of the school nearly being set on fire. On top of the changes mandated by the state, the board of governors chose to remove Mr. Brocklehurst as headmaster. The day it was announced that he would be replaced was almost like a mini-holiday; for day schoolers, workers, and rich kids alike. We all expected Ms. Temple-Browne to take over, but she had recently married and was expecting her first child. She was more than content to stay on as deputy, and continue teaching advanced art until her maternity leave. 

Mr. Albright was promoted to Headmaster, and under him the school was run fairly and without the harsh strictures of the Brocklehurst regime. Certain things had to remain the same to ensure the Brocklehurst family money - chapel at 8am each day, continued Sunday services, and full services on major religious holidays - but otherwise the ‘extras’ were removed. Tuesday and Thursday evening devotions being blissfully one of them. Additional staff were hired to address that workload issue I mentioned previously. 

Mr. Albright was also quite resourceful in getting additional support for the school, so that the burden on scholarship and working students was reduced. Once, in 11th grade, he had me place some of my paintings in a museum in Lancaster. I wasn’t sure of his motives, until someone had offered me a sizeable sum to purchase one. The transaction was handled so effortlessly I had to confront him (politely) about it. He readily admitted that a patron of the school had admired my art work from the year previous, but due to school rules could not approach me unless my work had been made “publicly” available. The deal was that the purchase price for my work would be the equivalent of two years college tuition, plus a bonus. It would have allowed me to quit working the dining hall, but by this point that work had become so integral to my routine that I felt quite lazy when not doing it. 

Life was starting to look quite rosy, but as I have learnt, nothing good can last long without being tempered. 

11th grade was also my first year without Helen. She had graduated, and was now a freshman at Binghamton University. Although it wasn’t a huge physical distance away, the gap was keenly felt. I like to think by both of us. 

At the time it seemed like we were hopelessly wrenched apart.  
What I would give now to have Helen only a few hours away. 

It started around Christmas holidays. That would have been 1995. She came to visit at Lowood before making her “annual required visit” home. The tired and drawn out look she had that June - which I attributed to a ferocious exam cycle - had not dissipated. I dismissed it as continued exhaustion from university life, but Helen soon enough solved that problem. 

“No. I only had two exams this term.”

“Two? But…that’s two classes. Isn’t a full semester four to six?”

“Yeah,” Helen drew in a long breath, then exhaled slowly. “I had to drop most of my courses.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t been feeling well. Not for a long time Jane.”

My first thought was depression, or some other mental health issue. I had known for many years that Helen was not exactly welcome in her dad’s new family. Perhaps she couldn’t dismiss her feelings on it anymore.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Dad is taking me to one when I get home.”

“Well, keep me notified, okay?”

Helen’s smile was weak. “Okay.”

In the days before high speed internet and texting, phone calls were still the norm. One of the privileges of being an upper years student was that we were allowed a phone with call display and call answering in our rooms. A few days before Christmas (December 21st I believe), I got a call. I recognized the number as Helen’s dad. 

“Hey Helen! How’s it goi-“

“Hello Jane. It’s Mr. Burns, Helen’s dad.”

Why would he be calling? I had met him a few times since we formed our friendship. He was a pleasant, but slightly off-putting man. I could never be sure about him, or what he was thinking. I was always on my guard around him. 

“Hello. Is everything ok?”

There was a silence, wherein I was sure I could hear him…weeping?

“No. Helen’s in the hospital. She’s asking for you.”

I got the details and immediately went to Mr. Albright. He agreed that I should go, and released me from my holiday schedule. I didn’t have a lot of money on hand, but enough saved up from working over the summers that I wasn’t without resources. I caught a ride into Lancaster with Mme. Boualouan and was on the first train to New York.

Helen was at Cedars. 

Leukemia. And she had chosen not to receive treatment. 

“The doctor gives me about three months. It’s pretty advanced.”

I started to cry. Helen - my deepest, and truest friend - was going to die. “It’s not fair!” 

Helen motioned for me to join her on the bed. I crawled up, and after fiddling with her IV’s she tucked me under her arm and started to stroke my hair. “Life isn’t fair Jane. Perhaps if I had caught this earlier I’d fight it. But in all honesty I’m ready to go.”

“You’re only eighteen!” 

“Some of us are more ready than others.”

We laid there until a nurse told me I had to go. We had talked a bit about everything and nothing. It felt like we were in school again; sharing a dorm room and gossiping about teachers. 

I got up and got my coat. “I’ll visit you soon, Helen.”

“No you won’t. You’re going to go back to school, get back into your art, and set the world on fire. You’re going to live Jane. You can’t do that if you are constantly in the realm of the dying.”

I stood there trying to process her words. I couldn’t be sure if she was trying to push me away for my sake or hers. I suspect now it was a little bit of both. Helen was always intensely private, and couldn’t face the indignity of a public death. I was also far too dependant on her, at times, and I had to learn how to manage life without my best friend. 

That was the last time I saw her. Three months ended up being three weeks. On January 12th, 1996, Helen died. She was cremated, and her ashes were scattered. A small plaque was placed in the ‘In Memoriam’ cabinet at Lowood. Lately, I have seen fit to have a better tribute - a writing scholarship in her name, and a corner of the library in her honour. It is the least I can do. 

That next semester at Lowood was difficult. I had other friends to be sure, but none as close as Helen. While I never fully sank into depression, there were times when I was laid quite low. However, I always recalled Helen’s advice that life was perennially unfair and that to accept it wasn’t admitting defeat, as much as it was a reminder to truly appreciate the times when it was fair. I had a good, rational head on my shoulders and a reasonable talent. It was time to adapt, and overcome. 

My closing year at Lowood was really uneventful. Days came and went, exams were written, art work submitted, and university application forms piled so high I could have drowned in them. 

My situation was awkward, in that apart from my generous (and to this day still anonymous) benefactor I had no money to attend college. Because of my continued relationship to the Reeds, my home was still Georgia and as such to attend school anywhere else meant that I would be paying out of state fees. Luckily Mrs. Temple-Browne had a solution. 

“You’re seventeen Jane. You could legally emancipate yourself.”

“Mrs. Reed would quit paying.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I think I could convince her otherwise.”

I had my doubts, but Mrs. Temple-Browne wanted to try. I like to think of her success as one of those times where my life was a little more fair. She had managed to get Mrs. Reed to agree to pay for my last year at Lowood, and to legally emancipate myself so that I could declare Pennsylvania my home state. 

“The trick was reminding her that in allowing this she would not be involved in paying for college.”

“That still leaves me on the hook for all of it.”

“Yes, but you can now apply to universities here in Pennsylvania, and be an in-state student. Not an ideal situation, but better than the alternatives?”

“Agreed.” I let out a big sigh. “But now what?”

“Your call. You are, as they say, your own woman now.”

I had to sit down and weigh the options. While art was always the dream, it wasn’t really feasible. I would be taking on massive student debt regardless, and it seemed prudent to choose a career path that would allow me a hope of paying it back. Besides, to truly pursue art meant New York - and that was an impossible dream. I was good, talented even, but not great. I would have to foster my talents in a more realistic setting. 

Another option available to me was education. I had considered it; having spent all my summers since the age of eleven working around and with youth I had developed a kind of patience that many adults were in awe of, and that my peers couldn’t even begin understand. While most seniors were trying to sneak around on weekends with alcohol, weed, and boys, I spent mine in the study hall tutoring junior students. I enjoyed it; there was a rush I felt in being a small part of another person’s success. 

When I decided that was the path I would choose, I had the cautious praise of my teachers. Looking back, I understand their initial approbation; education is a difficult, stressful, and often frustrating career. But the rewards are numerous - if you know how to find them. Acceptance in to Penn State was not an issue. So it was I was to leave Lowood in the summer of 1997 for Penn State’s College of Education. 

I’m going to summarize my five years at Penn State in list format  
\- Your accent is funny. Where are you from?  
\- Do you ever party?  
\- You’re an RA? Isn’t that like babysitting?  
\- You’re a Res Director? Why?  
\- Art teacher? Really? You should go into special education.  
-You want to switch to special education? You’ve got some credits that would be wasted. Why don’t you just double major?  
\- DOUBLE MAJOR HELL  
\- You’re such a good artist. Why are you becoming a teacher?  
\- INTERNSHIP. OH GOD. WHY?  
\- Congrats! You have B.Ed in arts education and a B.S in Special Education. You will now forever have to fight for your validity in schools. Good luck!

 

And so, while perusing education employment sites three weeks before graduation, that is how I found Mrs. Fairfax.


	6. Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane responds to an advertisement of a peculiar nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Chapter VI

After passing around my resume during the last term, and receiving no responses in return, I soon found myself despondent. Despite receiving excellent references and recommendations from professors and cooperating teachers, my phone and email were silent. On the advice of a professor, I started looking at the alternative categories on the job boards; people looking for tutors and nannies. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but letters informing me of the repayment terms on my loans had spurred me into action. One post caught my eye immediately as it used a term I had only read in 19th Century literature - governess. Something about the language of advertisement drew me in. 

_“Seeking a governess or tutor for a young girl, aged 8. Would prefer an elementary teacher with a background in fine arts. Must have training and certification in special education. Accommodations provided, and salary negotiable on grid for the state of Oregon. Please apply with references to A. Fairfax; fairfax@thornfieldestatemanagement.com”_

 

I felt that the ad had been written especially for me. At 23, I was keen for adventure. There was a restlessness within that I hadn’t felt since I was a small child. Pennsylvania had given me all it had to offer, and while thankful that it had been a safe home for the past 12 years, it was time to leave. I had thought of New York, or Los Angeles; to seek my great adventure in a great city worthy of great novels. Perhaps I would join the exodus of my fellow graduates who were seeking opportunities abroad in Asia or Europe. However, the idea of teaching English as a Second Language was not appealing, and while Europe was a place I desired to go I knew within my heart that it would wait for me - I wasn’t ready or willing to leave North America yet. 

This would be perfect. I knew nothing about Oregon other than it was there, on the Pacific coast, below Washington and above California. It had the added bonus of being even further away from Georgia than Pennsylvania was. So, in a heightened moment - agitation, anxiousness, and listlessness combined - I replied to the ad. It felt like a bold maneuver; diverting from the expected course, rebelling against expectations. In hindsight, calling it my act of ‘youthful rebellion’ is quite ridiculous. I have agreement on that from many corners. 

Over the next few days I wrought myself sick with apprehension and anxiety. I didn’t know how much I wanted, or even needed, a reply until it came. The subject heading in my inbox was like a dose of medicine or soothing balm.   
_Re:Governess/Tutor position - please find enclosed offer_

Waiting for the page to load felt like an eternity.

_Good morning, Miss Jane Eyre,  
I was exceedingly grateful to receive your application. We are quite impressed with your resume and references, and would gladly like to offer you the position. Full grid salary for a first year teacher with Special Education is $40,800 - thereabouts, and after adjusting for room and board (approximately $1000/month) we would like to offer you a salary of $28,000/year. I would like to speak with you in person, so please call at your earliest convenience. _

_I look forward to hearing from you,  
Mrs. A. Fairfax  
Thornfield Estate Management  
541-555-2298 ext. 301_

Bliss. The feeling I had could only be described as pure bliss. It didn’t care that I could be walking into a hovel with a wretched old lady and a (potentially) disturbed child. Maybe they were cannibals, honestly at that moment it did not matter. After weeks of nothing, I had been offered a job. A chance to launch my career. I did not waste a single moment more and reached for my phone. My hands, reflecting the shaking in my whole body, took some time to coordinate the dialling of an unfamiliar number. 

“Good afternoon,” a pleasant, but robotic voice answered, “and welcome to Thornfield Estate Management. If you know the extension of the party you wish to reach, please enter it now.” 

I punched in 301.

“Good afternoon, Alice Fairfax.” It was the same voice from the recording, although more present and perhaps a bit more worn.

“Good afternoon, this is Jane Eyre.” I did my best to sound even-keeled. 

“Jane! So good to hear from you! Are you willing to accept the offer?”

“Yes. I would love to.”

“Excellent!” Her voice crackled with eagerness. “Do you have any questions about the position?”

“A few. It wasn’t made specifically clear what my student’s limitations are. I would like to know what I’m walking into.”

“Of course. Adele has been diagnosed with ADHD, and it has made learning in a traditional environment very difficult. We are treating with medication and cognitive behaviour therapy, but there have been troubles in pinpointing the exact dosages needed in the medication. As a result her education is very disjointed. We feel having Adele homeschooled is the best move forward at this point.”

“And this ‘we’ that you are speaking of, is Mr. Fairfax?” I asked. 

“Oh heavens no!” The lady chuckled. “There hasn’t been a Mr. Fairfax in ages. I should clarify; Adele Rochester is the daughter of Mr. Edward Rochester.”

“Who is….?”

“Oh my. I suppose not being from the area you wouldn’t know. Mr. Rochester is the owner of Thornfield Estate Management; a real estate and property management firm just outside of Florence. He is a third generation lawyer/operator of the business, specializing in conscientious real estate development.”

“Conscientious, real estate….development?”

There was a small laugh, “There are rich people who want to buy pieces of Oregon and develop it. Mr. Rochester helps them do so in a manner that is seen as beneficial to the environment and the communities of Oregon.”

“So, he develops land while trying not to destroy it.”

“Precisely. He also has a good reputation for developing culturally and historically sensitive areas.”

“Fascinating.” I was picturing in my mind a man in his late 30’s, smartly dressed in the latest from Eddie Bauer (with the appropriate North Face or Patagonia outer jacket), drinking an organically sourced fair trade coffee while reviewing plans to save the Oregon Trail. “And is there a Mrs. Rochester?”

“No.” The reply was curt. Final, actually. I made a mental note not to go down that path again. My first mistake, truth be told. 

“Oh. You mentioned making provisions for room and board?”

“Yes.” The pleasantness returned, “Thornfield House is actually about 45 minutes away from Florence, and a bit remote. You are more than welcome to live in town if you’d like, but you’d have to provide your own transportation to and from. However, it would be preferred if you lived at the house.”

This suited me, as I didn’t have a car. “And, if I need transportation?”

“There is a staff car that is available most times, for any errands that have to be done.”

“Is this a nanny position as well?”

“No no. Adele has a nanny, Sophie, who provides most of her care. You would be strictly responsible for her education. Your work week would be Monday to Friday, with weekends free. As for classroom hours, those you could set as needed. We ask though that you try to adhere to a typical six hour day, as much as possible.”

The job sounded decent. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I felt that my experiences at Lowood made me extremely suitable for the task. Remoteness, isolation, and hard work were things that did not terrify me. On the contrary, they were my old friends. In retrospect, there were many more questions I should have asked, but they were overshadowed by my overwhelming desire to leave my current life and begin anew. 

“I can work with that. Would I begin in September?”

“Actually, if you are amenable to the idea, we would like you to start as soon as possible.”

I was taken aback just a bit. Not that I had any fantastic plans for the summer (working some University art camps - again), but it seemed odd to start in the middle of April. “Mr. Rochester would rather Adele begin so late in the school year?”

“Yes. For you see, we pulled her from school just a few weeks ago. So by the time you finish your exams and graduate, she will have been out of school for eight weeks.”

“Ah. Well then. My last exam is April 12th. I can be there shortly thereafter.”

“You don’t want to stay for your commencement?” Mrs. Fairfax asked; her tone having that condescending disappointment reserved for those of us who do not participate in ‘life moments’.

“No. I have no one to attend, and I’m not a fan of ceremony.”

“Alright then. I will make the travel arrangements and mail them to you. We will cover your cost of travel.”

That was unexpected. “Thank you.” I managed to sputter.

“No. Thank you, Miss Eyre.” Mrs. Fairfax replied. “I look forward to meeting you very soon. If you could print off and sign the contract enclosed in the email, and fax it back as soon as possible, we can make it official. If you have any more questions do not hesitate to email or call.”

“Will do. Thank you very much. Goodbye.”

April 12th was five weeks away. Five weeks to get my life organized and paired down into Georgie’s old luggage. 

Five weeks to move to Florence, Oregon.


	7. Chapter VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane get a surprise before heading off to Oregon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Constructive feedback is always welcome :)

My plans were thrown askew by an email I received a mere two days after making arrangements. Mrs. Temple-Browne sent a message inquiring about tickets for my commencement ceremony. I had initially replied that I was not going to attend, but with gentle cajoling I was convinced that I should go and she would like to attend. She also requested two tickets, although I couldn’t fathom why Mr. Browne would want to come. He was a pleasant sort of man, but we had only met a few times during my tenure at Lowood. I purchased the tickets and sent them to the school, and called Mrs. Fairfax about the delay. 

“That’s perfectly alright dear. I’ll just change the dates on the tickets. Are you sure you still want to travel by train? Flying would be so much more comfortable.” The lady spoke. 

“Yes. I’m not fond of flying, so train would be suitable. Thank you.”

Truth be told, it wasn’t the flying experience that I dreaded as much as the airport experience. Most of my peers had positive experiences with flying and airports, but a good deal of my negative childhood memories were a result of being forced to go with Bess or Marcie to collect the Reed’s from Atlanta after some trip or another. Or worse yet, being forced to go with Mrs. Reed to collect one or all of my cousins. With Bess or Marcie acting as a buffer, the trips were tedious at best - the bullying was at a dull roar because “one should not appear unseemly in front of the help.” If it was just Mrs. Reed and myself (and lord knows why I had to go; there were plenty of people to watch over me at Gateshead), the drive to Atlanta was in stony silence but the drive home from Atlanta was full of pulled hairs, fights, and inevitably bruising from John’s abuse. Even to this day, I’m not overly fond of airports. 

 

On the day of commencement I placed my luggage in temporary storage at the residence I called home for the last five years, and decided to get some air before the ceremony. I took a few steps out the main entrance and watched the comings and goings of university life for the last time. Penn State had been good to me. I excelled in my studies, had the respect of my professors and peers, and while I hadn’t made any friends who were as close to me as Helen was, there were a few who had made my college life not only bearable, but fun. However, I was ready. Ready to leave Penn State, ready to leave Pennsylvania, and ready to leave childhood. You would think, dear reader, that you leave childhood behind when going to college but I felt that Penn State was just one more stepping stone before reality. I believe the term now is called ‘adultlescence’ - the time in college where you learn how to be an adult. I think the term is fitting, truthfully. 

It was a lengthy walk from my (former) residence to where the ceremony was taking place. I didn’t mind though. I enjoy the exercise; the chance to clear my mind and the opportunity to be alone. It was midway through that walk that a familiar car pulled up alongside me.

“Well hello there stranger!” Mrs. Temple-Browne called out from her window. “Would you like a lift?”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind it.” It would be quite rude to say no.

There were two other people in the vehicle, but I couldn’t make out who they were. I got in through the rear driver’s side was greeted with a shock!

“BESS?!” It came out rather high pitched and loud. 

“One and the same Miss.” Beside me was Bess Leaven. In the twelve years since we had seen each other Bess had not drastically changed. She was a little more rounded out (I suspected that her and Robert finally had children), and there were a few more grey hairs on her head. I gave her a swift hug.

“How? Why?…I don’t…”

“I wrote to the school asking if there was anyway I could contact Jane Eyre. Mrs. Reed only said that you were gone to university, but she did not say where. Imagine the shock I got when the school actually replied.”

This is where Mrs. Temple-Browne chimed in. “I was just as surprised to receive the letter, and I felt that no harm could come from letting Mrs. Leaven here know that you were just finishing up your degree. Thought it might be nice to have one person from home come to your commencement.”

All I could do was sit there, with a pleasantly stunned look on my face. 

“Alex here is going to take the car and run some errands during the ceremony.”

I looked to the front passenger seat and saw Mr. Browne. Immediately, I remembered that I had not greeted him. “My apologies. Good afternoon, Mr. Browne.”

“Afternoon, Jane. And congratulations.”

“Thank you.” I turned back to Bess. “Why the interest though? I would have expected everyone to forget me.”

“Oh Miss, we never forgot you at Gateshead. You have to admit your wild temper at times would guarantee that.” Bess smiled coyly. 

“I suppose. I did have quite the angry streak when I was younger.”

“I would say….passionate.” Bess replied. “You felt your injustices keenly. And despite what I hear of your ‘restrained’ nature, I suspect beneath all that education you still do.”

I didn’t respond. It was true. Beneath my decorum is a tempest. But I lived by Helen’s recommendations; I learned to channel it in healthier ways. 

“Well. Anyhow.” Bess said quietly. “I don’t suppose you want any news from Gateshead.”

“Only as necessary. But I would like to hear about you. Have you and Robert started a family?”

Here Bess beamed. “Oh yes! We have four children now, all growing like weeds, all getting into the good sorts of trouble. Two boys and two girls…” Bess continued in that fashion for a few minutes talking about her children in the way only mothers can. I wasn’t disinterested in the conversation but I thought I would spare the details. 

The natural conclusion of that conversation was to bring everything around to the topic of Gateshead.

“There have been many changes since you left. Marcie quit. Took a position at some big law office in Atlanta. Heard she married some lawyer.”

“Sounds about right for Marcie.” I was never fond of her. There was no loyalty there, only self-service. 

“Mrs. Reed does poorly.” Bess mentioned quietly.

“Oh?” I tried to be nonplussed, but I know that my curiosity gave me away.

“John, Liz, and Georgie have turned out…well. Not as expected. She has many cares on her shoulders.”

Bess looked at me, and I looked back. There was no point in just leaving the topic there. “Well?”

Bess sighed. “John was kicked out of Duke. He assaulted a poor girl, and should have done jail time, but Mrs. Reed used her influence to have the charges dropped. She couldn’t prevent him from losing his scholarship though. He finished at the University of Georgia, and was supposed to go study law in North Carolina - but we’ve lost contact with him. Last we heard he was getting into some shady dealings in Charleston. Liz went to Annapolis. She now serves in the US Navy, although we do not know where. She never writes, never calls, never comes home for leave. Mrs. Reed hasn’t seen her since she left for college. Georgie…well. Georgie ended up doing very well for herself in New York, for a time. Finished theatre school, went to Julliard, and even managed to get a few small roles on Broadway. But then something happened. She got herself in the middle of a very sordid affair with a director. He was supposed to leave his wife and take Georgie to Hollywood.”

“Let me guess?” I interjected. “She went to L.A. and he never arrived?”

“Precisely. She tried for a time to make it in L.A. on her own. Now she’s in Atlanta, teaching musical theatre and dance.”

“Oh how the mighty have fallen.” I may have smirked. Just a little.

“Now Jane,” Bess chided. “don’t take that position. I truly believe she was, and maybe still is, in love with that man. Georgiana Reed may be the most entitled of women, but she is still a person.”

I reflected a bit on Bess’ words. “True. No one deserves to have happiness wrenched away from them.” 

Commencement was just as boring, long winded, and superfluous as I expected it to be. However, I had a bit of a surprise as I was notified mere moments before collecting my degree that I would be awarded the medal for top graduate in special education. Listening to my college supervisor speak about me was a bit odd, but in the end it was nice to have Mrs. Temple-Browne and Bess there to witness the occasion. All in all a genuinely pleasant way to wrap up my final years of schooling. 

Bess, Mrs. Temple-Browne, and Mr. Browne wanted to take me out for a celebratory dinner, but I declined. I mentioned the position I had taken up, and that the tickets were in place for me to leave first thing in the morning. I would be staying in a hotel near the train station overnight. The least, Mr. Browne said, that they could do then was take me and my luggage to my destination. The three of them would brook no opposition. At the hotel, we all said our goodbye’s.

“Be well Jane. Great things lie ahead.” Mrs. Temple-Browne gave me a hug and quick kiss on the cheek, European style. 

“Take care.” Mr. Browne simply shook my hand. 

Bess took me in for one of her big hugs. “Oh Jane! I wish you all the happiness life can afford you. You may not be as pretty or glamorous as Miss Georgie, but you have leaps and bounds above any of them in character. You’ll go far, dear.”

Reader, take care not to be overly offended by Bess’ words. I have known since I was little that I was not a great beauty. I am quite petite (5’1), barely 110lbs soaking wet, and in a culture that values full feminine features I come out looking quite childlike in comparison. I have a longer, more drawn out face, thin lips, and grey-blue eyes (referred to as ‘steel’) with mouse brown hair. The best compliment I have ever received is that my look is that of a hawk; alert, piercing eyes set in an intense face. And that my features soften greatly when I smile. 

With that I took my leave of the small party, and settled in for the first night of my new adventure.


End file.
